


his own worth

by writedeku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Langst, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Sadness? Not on Keith's Watch, TW feeling not good enough, TW signs of depression, The Voltron Team is a Support Pillar, You Bet Your Ass Keith is Running In Like a Defensive Angel, tw anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 01:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: In the middle of the conversation, Lance stops talking and no one notices. It’s not like he had been leading the conversation, for he hadn’t been, but somehow the fact that his lack of input or opinion isn’t noticed tightens the grip loneliness has on his heart. He looks down at his food, his face burning, his throat tightening up.





	his own worth

**Author's Note:**

> ohoho brace yourself for angst ft my baby boo  
> im just gonna say that all of the words ive written are based on my own experiences, so if you dont like the way i wrote it, tough.  
> thanks to the kind gabby (@gabberwocky) for reading this through once to reassure me i hadnt fucked up keith 
> 
> trigger warnings: anxiety, depression, isolation and homesickness

In the middle of the conversation, Lance stops talking and no one notices. It’s not like he had been leading the conversation, for he hadn’t been, but somehow the fact that his lack of input or opinion isn’t noticed tightens the grip loneliness has on his heart. He looks down at his food, his face burning, his throat tightening up.

“I’m done,” he excuses himself and leaves his food half-finished on the dining table, but they don’t notice that either. Allura and Coran are discussing some sort of strategy together, their heads bent low. Shiro and Keith are talking about something too, while Hunk and Pidge are having a competition to see who draws best in space goo. He stands at the door of the dining room, nearly doubled over with the weight of his sadness. He feels it like a great stone boulder, weighing heavy on his shoulders, turning his stomach sick with unease and unhappiness.

He leaves the room, his feet loud and echoing on the great stone floors. They echo off the high walls, bouncing back at him, and while Lance liked to find comfort in solitude all he feels right now is pain. Meandering around the castle, he finds a door that opens to some sort of space viewing gallery. The whole room is made of a transparent material stronger than glass, but he can see everything through it- the purple and blue wisps of gas that bumble past the windows, the bright white lights of stars and planets in the distance. The room is also eerily quiet.

He steps out into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning against one of the walls. His eyes scan the cosmos until eventually he finds a star that holds its gaze- its bright light is tinged red, and it’s bigger than the others at the same distance. He finds himself inexplicably drawn to talk to it.

“Why am I here?” he asks, his voice cracking unintentionally. He didn’t mean to be this fucking pathetic, but as with the rest of his personality, it seems to be all he can do. His heart twists and clenches- there are no words to describe grief. There is nothing anyone could say to convey just how helpless and unwanted you could feel, that however lonely you felt it could get worse.

Lance liked to convey it this way- there’s a faucet in your bedroom you can’t turn off. Your sink is overflowing, water is seeping out through the crack under the door, but you’re all out of buckets. 

Sure, you could just call someone to fix the faucet- but Lance has been calling and calling and calling and no one is fucking coming and all he can do is sit in his soggy socks and jeans, staring at a widening puddle and a dead phone. You just feel sick and helpless, watching the mess get bigger and bigger until it starts to affect your other rooms as well. “I just wanted to go to town with Pidge and Hunk. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

The star does not answer, but Lance likes to pretend it does.

_You’re here for a purpose, Lance McClain. The Blue Lion chose you._

The thought that was once comforting now feels like a boulder in his gut. He did not want to be chosen anymore. He just wanted to go home, sit down with his mother and his _abuela_ , watch the stars from the comfort of the ground, feel the salt breeze from the ocean on his face again.

He does not want to be sitting on a transparent floor in the middle of a vast, vast universe, staring death in the face amongst teammates who think him weak.

For what did Lance have to contribute? His jokes were half-assed and had now turned self-deprecating, his constant attempts for validation from others through the form of flirting always ended with either disapproving glances or some attempt on his life, and he would never truly be a part of Team Voltron. To say he feels like shit is an understatement, he genuinely wants to die.

 _I want to leave,_ he thinks miserably. _I don’t want to be the Blue Paladin anymore._

* * *

“I can hit it,” Lance eyes the target- a kill switch just up on the second floor, angled slightly in a way that would make ground shots difficult. “Trust me. I can hit it.”

“Lance, don't be ridiculous,” Hunk huffs and looks at the switch too. “That angle is impossible. We’re better off figuring out a way to launch a ground assault.”

“I said, _I can hit it,”_ Lance whirls around and looks at his team with distaste. “I know my limits, thank you very much, and I wouldn’t risk the mission on something as trivial as trying to prove my worth. I have hit targets harder than this in the training simulator. My bayard turns into a gun. I can hit it.”

“Lance,” Keith starts, but he has the decency to look uncomfortable. “You’re not exactly a sharpshooter.”

The world slows to a halt. His faucet gives a little whirr and starts pumping out more water. His gaze flits from each member, and it’s like the world is in slow motion. Keith looks away from him. Hunk shrugs his shoulders. Pidge doesn’t meet his eyes. Shiro examines his Galra hand with almost too much dedication for it to have been casual.

The crushing feeling is back again in his heart, and it starts with a painful lump in his throat he cannot swallow around. The ground swims and he almost chokes.

Then, suddenly, from out of the darkness- a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re no sharpshooter…yet. But if you think you can,” it’s Keith. Keith is holding his shoulder and looking at him with earnest eyes. “Then go for it. We’ll support you.”

“You want me to?” Lance breathes.

“Well, do _you_ want to?” Keith teases. “If you miss, we’re stopping at a night market on Balore and you’re buying me dinner.”

_Keith, oh Keith, he would die for Keith in a heartbeat if he could. The Red Paladin was irreplaceable. The Blue Paladin could be found at a spacestop anywhere in the galaxy._

“I won’t miss,” Lance bites out, and fires.

He hits the switch, of course he does. He knew that right away that he could, but maybe the disbelief at his back had lended him something to prove. The weapon in the centre stops powering up, leaving Galra soldiers to look at each other in confusion. Reaching forward, he takes the space grenade from Keith’s hands, pulls the pin and lobs it into the base.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly. He does not wait to see if they followed him, but he would not be surprised if they didn’t.

* * *

“What would it take for someone to be proud of me?” he asks his favourite star later that day, skipping dinner for the third time in a row, if not to escape the looks from his teammates, but to feel the his stomach growl and know, at least for that instant, that he is alive. “I hit the target and none of them said a word.”

 _Well of course not_ , his star says. He'll be sorry when they leave this area of space and he can no longer see his star in the distance. They do seem to be drawing nearer to it, though. _They do not think you are capable of anything. You are the most useless member of the team. Anything you can do, they can do better._

Lately, his star had switched from being positive to downright hurtful, but that is okay, for that is how Lance felt. He felt like complete and utter shit. It's not their fault though, for the team does try their best to ensure that they listen to him, though they listen and disregard.

In the transparent room, even with the lights off there still a silvery, ethereal glow from the planets and stars they pass as the drift. Lance could see, for instance, the purple hue of an uninhabited planet they are passing now, and from the looks of it they plan to settle in orbit around it for the time being while Pidge deciphered some stolen information from the weapon they’d just blown up today.

He’d taken to making this his bedroom, bringing up his mattress, blanket and pillows from his old room and nestling it in the corner of this room up against one of the smooth white walls. He also had a pile of clothes here, and an alarm clock, for now he basically lived here.

Why?

Something about the bedroom made everything simultaneously too big and too small. Besides, here, no one could find him if they wanted to talk, and for someone supposedly so lonely, he seems to be doing fantastic at isolating himself.

 _You’re pathetic,_ his star says, and Lance cannot disagree.

* * *

When Keith is upset, he usually goes to the training room to work off steam. Maybe Lance has enough issues to worry about, but after that incident on the planet- he knew Keith would be in a terrible place. That is where Lance finds him, all hard angles and gruff shouts, cleaving downwards with easy, swift moves. In moments like this, with no death about to rain down on them, Lance is free to appreciate just how beautiful the Red Paladin was, with his bright eyes and hard lines of muscle that can be seen through his shirt.

Lance opens with, “it wasn't your fault,” as he actives his bayard and nails the training robot right in the ribs- through the crack between Keith’s arm and his body. “The girl didn't listen to us. We try our best but we can't save everyone, you know how it is.”

Keith spares him an impressed glance at the shot before resuming his training. “If I’d just been a little bit faster I might’ve been able to save her.”

“You can't think that way,” he frowns, blocks the training robot’s sword with his gun and pulls a dagger out of nowhere to shank him in the thigh. There's a whirring sound as the robot powers down. “If we always think if I could've done this or this then no one in the future will get saved. You tried your best. You were great out there today.”

Keith wipes his brow and looks away from him. “You're awfully nice today. You sure you're not here to try and make me compete in some stupid rivalry challenge again?”

Somehow, the line _you're being awfully nice today_ hurts him. Lance has never tried to put any one of his team down, for he knows too well how that feels. He's always tried to be there for them. “You bastard, I’m always nice.”

“Maybe,” Keith shrugs. “Do you want to train with me?”

“What's this sudden kindness? The great Keith is inviting me to train with him?” Lance strides over to him, his heart aching, but for Keith he can keep up any pretence, and right now all he wants to do is to be with him, even in the instances where he would rather run.

“No one gets that good at shooting on a fluke,” Keith peels off his sweaty shirt, which nearly gives Lance an aneurysm. “You've been practicing. I don't see you much in here though.”

Lance finds it hard to concentrate with Keith being well, half naked and still swinging a sword about, because god he's so beautiful it should be illegal or something. He's right though- Lance hardly ever comes in here- instead he stands in his transparent room and takes aim at targets he made through the castle’s synthesisers. It's easier this way- he can avoid everyone.

“You think I’m good?” he asks, breathless almost with the praise. It makes him feel unbearably warm inside, and somehow all the more upset.

“What’re you talking about? You shot through the gap of my arm. That’s fucking insane,” Keith laughs and sets the training level to “crowd”. “I bet if we learned some combo moves we’d be unstoppable.”

Lance feels like he's floating. “Y-yeah I guess. I still can't stand you, mullet.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith swung his arm backwards, the bare blade of his sword resting against his back. This time, it had to be intentional, because there is no way Keith isn’t aware of what he's doing. He has to be aware. He cannot be that _fucking_ oblivious. “I can't stand you either.”

Lance reflexively presses the trigger on his gun, body too lax from what he's seeing, but Keith dodges easily. “That was a test, I swear.”

He gets lost in the thrill of the fight- fighting with Keith is always beautiful, for the man himself cleaves through enemies as though they are clay, and the way the waves part at his feet is euphoric. Even though they’re only training, and it is only holograms dying, he still feels the same thrill as he does when he’s in battle- the only time he actually feels alive.

He’s so lost in it that he forgets even to be sad, but once they’ve parted ways, Lance with a cheery _you so missed that last hologram_ and Keith with a _you need more work in close combat_ , he nearly doubles over when it slams into him like an iron fist.

What’s the point of being happy when he is just going to be sad again later? It fucking hurts, all of it fucking hurts, being lonely hurts, missing his mother hurts, missing the way salt water stung his eyes and the smell of the sand after it rained hurt. Slumping against the wall, his hands scrabble at his neck and scratch, and he slips down the wall until he’s curled up in a little ball on the floor.

“It fucking hurts,” he sobs, feeling worse when he realises just how pathetic he’s become. “Make it stop, please.”

Spoiler alert. It does not.

* * *

Lance is beautiful. They’re standing on the edge of a cliff, facing down a squadron of Galra soldiers- at least twenty of them- with nowhere to go and nowhere to run. Their lions are captives, their friends are taken. All they have is each other, and Lance is beautiful, Keith thinks.

He’s framed by the shadowy sun of this particular planet, his dark blue eyes narrowed and almost luminous in the dimness of the plain. His face is stained with various hues of colour; grey from the soil, red from his own, and purple from the Galra. He stands tall, back straight and eyes hard, bringing his arms up from hanging at his sides into an active fight position. Keith hates that he’s only realising this now, how breathtaking the boy is, for the squadron looms over them like monoliths and Keith is so very tired.

“Keith,” Lance says, and even his voice is beautiful, melodious and rolling, sounding a lot like the soft crash of waves on a beach at low tide. A gentle ebbing of the tide, rolling up gently on the sand- even in the heat of battle it is soothing and makes him think of home. “We’re probably going to die, so let’s fight like it.”

“You remember our combination moves?” Keith replies, bringing his bayard up to his shoulder in preparation. “I want to live, so I’m counting on you.”

“That’s a first,” Lance’s shoulder brushes against his. “I’ve sent the distress signal. We just have to stay alive for a couple more minutes.”

“We can do that,” Keith shrugs, presses more firmly into his touch. Lance looks over at him.

“I have four sisters, did you know that? I love them to pieces,” the first Galra attacks, but Lance dodges easily and shoots him in the back. “I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t go home to them.”

“I'll make sure you do,” he promises, because right now he’d promise anything to Lance if it’d get them both out alive. Perhaps this realisation of Lance was a long time coming; he'd always been attractive, but never _beautiful._ Perhaps they had to be thrust into this situation where they were most definitely going to die for Keith to realise just what a fucking bitch he’s been this entire time.

“Thanks,” Lance murmurs, and then he’s whirling away, dancing lightly over a laser beam and retaliating with one of his own. Keith has no time to focus on just how graceful he'd become, instead turns to his own battles, slicing and cutting his way through the masses that just never seem to stop coming.

“Look out!” Lance shouts, and then his bayard is there, his gun absorbing the hit that would’ve gone right into his back. “God, Keith, I can’t keep both you and me alive! Look out!”

“That’s a fucking difficult request, considering what we’re in now!”

“I don't give a shit! You’re not dying on me,” Lance looks at him with actual fury in his eyes.

“Duck!” Keith shouts, then slices over his head through the neck of another Galra. Lance yelps and shoots in-between his legs to nail another right-

“I got that smack in the balls!” Lance cackles, then rolls over onto his stomach to take out a sniper on the cliff just above them. “Fuck you, I play Assassin's Creed too.”

“What?”

“I need to educate you on- _shit fuck fuck okay I got him-_ human video games, cause you’ve been so _holy fucking shit oh my god okay crisis averted_ emo you’ve missed it all,” Lance darts under blasts and finds himself back at Keith’s feet. “How about you protect my short-range and I’ll get all the shitheads at the back?”

“Good plan,” Keith is exhausted. His back aches, he’s got a cut on his cheek and a burn on his left shoulder, and his slices are coming slower. Lance jumps to his feet and takes aim, firing off a series of three shots that hits all their targets. Say what you want about his hand-to-hand ability, Lance is unparalleled at sharpshooting. He spares a glance at him and it sets him alight- Lance’s gaze is electric and bright, gleeful even in the fight. It sends a zing of energy through him. But there’s- there’s something different about Lance’s gaze, something a little too dark, his actions a little too risky to be considered safe play. Something about it unnerves Keith, distracts him for a little too long.

“Getting tired, pretty boy?” Lance teases, then slams him bodily to the left to shoot at ones that got a little too close to comfort. “I can go all day.”

“You wish,” Keith pants, then straightens. He taps into himself and draws out a hundred and twenty percent of his ability- he _has_ to, because if he doesn’t- then either him or Lance will die, and both of that is an outcome Keith absolutely dislikes.

Keith is not a very happy person; in fact, he isn’t much of an emotion person at all, and to be honest sometimes he’s not very sure why he’s living. Lately, he’d been putting it in terms of Voltron: _if you live, you can save one more life. If you live, you can save one more planet. If you live, you can be Voltron one. More. Time._ But then even that began to lose it’s impact. Then it became _if you live, you can sleep one more time. If you live, you can have space goo again. If you live, you can use the sandalwood soap you like so much._

Sure, the reasons were mundane and simply, ordinary slices of life, but it kept him grounded. Even though they were drifting about in the vastness of space, he still had food and soap and a pillow he liked to hug.

Now, he stabs through the gap between Lance’s arm and his body and nails a Galra right through the ribs. _If you keep him alive, he can eat space goo one more time. If you stay alive, you can eat space goo with him one more time._

Living for someone else suddenly seems very pleasant. If only he didn’t have to almost die to realise it.

* * *

Keith is no idiot, he has eyes, and Lance is missing. The room is eerily quiet without his usual rambunctious laughter and terrible one-liners, and from the tension not yet displaced from his teammates shoulders, he can tell that while maybe they don’t notice Lance is gone, they miss the impact of his actions. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Lance around for a while outside of their missions, it is as though he comes home and melts into the very shadows themselves.

His space goo suddenly seems a lot less appetising when he realises that one plate is missing. “Has anyone else noticed that Lance is a lot more distant lately?”

His words have a startling effect on the crew; they all jerk their heads up and look away guiltily.

“Well,” Hunk starts, his hands tight around his spoon. “He hasn’t been giving us a lot of opportunities to talk to him. He got like this often in the Garrison too, but a call from his mother usually perked him up right away.”

“So he’s homesick?” Keith swirls his goo around. “Are you sure that’s all?”

“What else would it be?” Pidge spoons goo into her mouth as she frantically types on her computer with one hand. “Give him a while, I’m sure he’ll bounce back. The boy is like rubber, y’know.”

There is silence. Keith knows that there’s more to the story, more to the painful silence and the absence of a person next to him.

“If he’s only homesick, then why do we all look like we’ve just run over a deer?” Shiro asks quietly- the one question none of them had dared to ask. Guilt settles heavy on Keith’s soul, but he cannot pinpoint the reason why.

None of them reply; but the shame is evident on their faces. Keith stands abruptly, striding over to the goo dispenser to get a fresh plate. “I don’t think he’s had dinner yet. I’ll stop by his room.”

“Thanks Keith,” Shirt clears his throat and turns back to the stack of papers he has next to his plate. “I’m going to go over some of the data we gathered from the Galra ships.”

“Shiro,” he starts uncomfortably, because the amount of detail he just went into was unnecessary and felt all too much like an excuse. Shiro looks up at him expectantly, but Keith can’t bring himself to follow through with that line of thought. Instead he shakes his head, grips the plate tightly, and walks out of the room.

* * *

“Lance?” there is no reply through his bedroom door. Keith’s face twists, whether out of distaste at being annoyed or worry he would not say. He raises his hand to knock- but the door slides wide open.

Keith walks in with slowly, his eyes widening as he takes in the disaster scene before him. The plate wobbles in his hands. “Lance?” he’s almost shouting now, for the room does not look like a room that has been used.

Lance’s belongings are strewn about all over the floor, but his mattress, pillow and blankets are entirely gone, and so are other things such as his notepads, holographic computer, extra clothes and the standard issue alarm clock. In the bathroom, his toiletries are gone as is his toothbrush and his towels, and everything in the room is coated with a small layer of dust. No one had been living here for a long time, it seemed, and the room itself had been untouched.

 _Did Lance move out of this room?_ He questions, but can’t think of a reason why. His eyes scan the room once more and fall on several space plants, ones that used to be purple and luminescent in the darkness. Lance had loved those plants, gushed about how well they were growing for days after getting it at a nearby planet. They were shrivelled up and grey now, dead from neglect. Keith feels his blood run cold.

“Lance!” he shouts, but no one comes.

A quick search of the nearby rooms yields nothing, so Keith has a split second to think of worst case scenario- _Lance had been captured by Zarkon and they'd been living with a hologram this whole time-_ before taking off running to the Bridge.

He kicks the door open in his haste, but to anyone who asks he’d still deny vehemently that he ended up caring for the boy, and nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get to Coran, who is looking at him weirdly.

“You’re carrying an empty plate, are you alright?” Coran questions, one eyebrow raised. Keith glances down at his hands to see that he is indeed carrying the plate that used to hold the space goo but was now empty- it must’ve fallen out along the way.

He can’t be bothered to think of the goo right now, though.

“Coran, can you find Lance?”

“Find Lance?” Coran questions. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Just- I need to find him, it’s important, but he’s not in his room,” _he hasn’t been for a long time_ , Keith silently adds. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“I’ll run a search for his lifesigns,” Coran looks at him worriedly. “Keith, are you sure you’re alright? You're all sweaty and flushed. Is Lance in trouble?”

“We-“ Keith can’t think of a reply. He wants to say _I think I’ve failed him, as a teammate and a friend,_ but something about that seems wrong to admit. “I just really need to tell him something.”

Judging from the look on Coran’s face, he does not believe him, but shrugs his shoulders. “He’s in the observation deck. It’s very pretty! It’s wall to ceiling _dynami!_ It’s ten times stronger than steel, and just as rare. You can see all the planets-“

“Yes, very pretty, I get it. How do I get there?”

“Take the elevator to the second floor, head straight down the corridor, then it’s left, left, right, left, and up a set of ladders.”

“That’s very out of the way,” Keith frowns and internalises the route. _Left, left, right, left, ladders._

“Well, it has to be,” Coran shrugs. “It’s basically a glass ball sticking out of the ship. If Lance is there, he probably wants to be alone.”

“He’s been alone enough,” Keith decides firmly. “You know- I think we’ve failed him, Coran,” he turns to leave. “I hope he’s alright.”

“Keith,” Coran calls just as he’s about to leave the room. Keith pauses, one hand in the middle of the doorway. “He asked me to find another Blue Paladin.”

The words don't register at first, but when they do it sucker punches him right in the gut and he doubles over, wheezing. “What?” he doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as hoarse as it does, but he’s having trouble breathing.

“He told me to keep it a secret. Made me swear on my honour,” Coran looks down at the floor. “But- I don't want him to leave. He’s very important to the team. Will you make sure he understands that?”

“I will make sure he never thinks he’s unwanted,” Keith promises, but inside he’s breaking. How could he- how could the team have let Lance feel this way, such that he asked _Coran_ to find another Blue Paladin? No one could replace Lance; he was as rare as all of them, intelligent and inquisitive, kind and generous. No one could become the Blue Paladin instead of him.

He doesn’t mean to start running, but then he is, and he cannot stop.

* * *

He doesn’t reach the observation deck so much so as smash face first into it from his haste, but once he’s climbed the ladder and standing in front of the door, he suddenly feels very, very nervous.

His nerves sit on his heart and tell him _Lance doesn’t like him like that, idiot,_ but what can he do? The boy needed- oh, did he need someone to tell him he was worthy of being in Voltron? As if the boy ever had to doubt that.

Pressing his hand against the door panel, it slides open soundlessly, and then Keith and Lance are staring at each other.

Lance has his bayard activated and he’s taking aim at several flying targets that zoom about the deck. In the leftmost corner there is his mattress and pillows, on the right there are his clothes in a folded pile, and lining one wall are other memorabilia and a couple of new space plants he must've bought sometime ago.

“Why’re you here?” Lance asks, looking awkward. He scuffs his feet on the floor as a trail of yellow vapour passes underneath the transparent floor. Keith takes a hesitant step onto the floor, not trusting it to hold his weight.

“I’ve come looking for you,” Keith says, the floor giving him vertigo as it zooms past him. He shakes his head; this isn’t about him, it’s about Lance. “You weren’t in your room. You made me worried.”

“Did I?” Lance smiles dryly, so full of self-hatred it makes Keith’s knees almost buckle because he sees that expression everyday he looks in the mirror. Oh, Lance.

He’s not much of a touchy person, he’s never been. Physical comfort had been a thing of the past, reserved for his father and his- his no one, for an orphan’s life is one of solitude. Now, though, with Lance looking at him like he genuinely wants to die, he can’t- he doesn’t- he doesn't know what to do other than to hug him, and he does. Lance is unyielding underneath him until Keith asks, his voice unnaturally shaky, “why’re you hiding from us?”

Whatever it is that is holding Lance back breaks. Lance’s knees buckle and both of them drop to the floor, Lance’s arms circling around Keith’s waist and clutching onto him as though he were a lifeline.

“Keith,” he cries out, draws in a wrecking breath, and then bursts into tears. “Keith, oh Keith.”

Keith hands tighten around Lance’s neck and wind up into his hair, thinking, yes, he likes hugs, and yes god yes, he would do this again in a heartbeat. He cannot find it in himself to tell Lance to stop crying, so he just lets him until he’s exhausted himself and Keith’s shoulder is sopping with his tears.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I’ve ruined your jacket,” Lance’s hands scrub weakly at the fabric, but Keith catches both of them in his and looks at him carefully.

“It's nothing that can’t be washed, Lance. What’s going on with you?” Unbidden, one of his hands lets go of Lance to cup the side of his face, and the way Lance turns his face into the gentle touch and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist has his heart breaking. “Why did you ask Coran to find another Blue Paladin?”

Lance retreats from the conversation. “I just thought-“

“Whatever it is, you thought _wrong_ ,” Keith hisses, as resolute as he can. He’s not good with emotions, but he wants to tell Lance just how much he means to him. “There can be no other Blue Paladin for me except for you. There is no one else I want but you. God- how long have you been-“

“But I’m useless,” Lance smiles down at the floor, but it’s watery and gross and wrong. “I'm the most useless member of this team. I can’t do anything right.”

Keith hears his own voice echoed back in his words, remembers a night where, frustrated with Lance’s lack of effort, he’d yelled _you can’t contribute anything, can you?!_

“Oh, oh no, oh no, Lance, no,” Keith surges forward again and knocks their foreheads together. “No, you're not useless. You try the hardest out of us. You listen to everyone who's sad and give them advice and make them feel better but none of us have done the same to you. We’re the ones who are sorry. _I_ am sorry.”

“Keith-“

“Lance,” he says urgently, hoping his tone conveys the seriousness in which he treats this situation. “Lance, you're very important to me. I know I’m not the best at showing it or responding to it but you’re-“

The ship passes next to a planet and the shadow falls over them, temporarily blocking out the distracting silvery light that attacks them from all directions. In the semi-darkness, he can make out the tinge of red in Lance’s eyes and the way silver light looks beautiful on him. “You’re extremely important to me.”

“You didn't notice when I was gone. I’m never part of conversations, I'm never included in training sessions or team exercises. I’m important to you?” Lance laughs, hard and full of hatred. “You lie.”

“I am many things, Lance McLain, but I am not a liar,” Keith’s eyes narrow dangerously, and his tone turns vehement. “You are always part of our conversations. Our team exercises are on a _sign up_ basis. Training sessions as a team are optional. Lance- I won't deny that we haven't been fair to you, but you need to take the initiative too! If you lock yourself away, how are we supposed to connect with you?”

Lance doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Lance, I-“ _love you_ , Keith wants to scream. I love you I love you I love you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you before, so- all encompassing and frightening. “I need you,” is what comes out instead. He knocks his head against Lance’s shoulder and tries to convey his emotions through his touch.

“You need me?” he’s broken. Keith has broken him. “You need me.”

“We all do,” he clutches onto Lance’s jacket and holds him tighter. “We all need you. Please, Lance, please just- try again.”

“I love you,” Lance says instead, and Keith freezes up. He pulls back from Lance to stare at soft, red eyes and an equally soft expression. “It’s what made it worse. I miss home and I miss being held and the rain, and I loved you. I thought you hated me.”

Keith melts in his boots at Lance’s tender expression. “I could never hate you. Sure, you’re a pain in the ass,” Keith hesitates, then presses a light kiss to his cheek. “But you’re _our_ pain in the ass.”

“I’m scared of what I feel for you,” Lance continues. His hands ghost themselves over Keith’s waist; runs gently down his shoulders. “I’m terrified of what I’d sacrifice to keep you safe.”

The amount of emotion directed at Keith has him tense up and back away. There’s something raw to his words that has him fidgety and on edge. “I thought if I gave up Blue and I went back home,” Lance’s hand now runs across his face, his thumb tracing his lips. “You would find a better pilot and a better marksman. And you would be safer.”

“You’re an idiot,” Keith declares and smacks him on the head. “There’s no one I feel safer with than you,” a brief pause. Then, “except maybe Shiro, but he’s ripped.”

“I do feel safe around Shiro,” Lance concedes.

“He’s got that kind of vibe,” Keith leans forward again, trusting himself to accept Lance’s feelings.  They’re so close Keith can see the spokes of lighter blue in near his iris.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Lance asks, his eyes soft.

“I want to,” Keith breathes.

Lance closes the distance between them.

It’s not a lot, Lance thinks. It’s not a lot, what they’re doing, Lance’s hands tangling in Keith’s hair, Keith’s hands on his jacket, but it feels like the world to him.

His words ring in his head.

_You’re wanted. You’re wanted. You’re wanted._

It may be nothing.

_I need you. We need you._

It could be empty words.

_You’re important to me._

_You’re good at what you do._

_You shot through the gap in my arms. That’s fucking insane._

_If you think you can hit it, we’ll support you._

Lance chooses to believe in them, and for the shining moment when he holds Keith in his arms, he can almost feel like vice around his heart ease up.

“I love you,” he says again, when they part, and Keith turns a pretty, pretty red. Now that the moment of panic has passed, Keith seems to have returned to his _I’m bad at emotions_ faze. “You don't have to say it. I think I know.”

“I don’t want you just to _think_ you know,” Keith says firmly. “Because that’s what led us here. I want you to _know_ for sure. I love you too. I love you so much it scares me.”

Lance smiles, then, it changes into a familiar shit-eating grin. “But I kissed you first, so I win.”

“This was not a competition!” Keith hisses, outraged, but there is no heat in his words.

Lance smiles fondly down at him. “Oh, it so was. And I won.”

“Fuck you,” Keith says, his voice light, because he's missed that familiar kind smile. It is going to be a journey to convince Lance of his own worth, but it is a journey they're ready to fucking take because Lance- Lance is worth it. He has more words to say, but they die in his throat when Lance kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this! kudos and comment if you liked it huehehue (they make me super happy)  
> read my other klance fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=276512&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&user_id=stormfirej)


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